Gil had no sense of direction, no sense of anything. She ran blindly,
her tears dimming vision already impaired by the scenes of carnage in her
mind's eye. Finally, she could run no farther. Her legs gave out, and she
fell for the last time. She couldn't will her self to get up. She didn't
want to. She just wanted to die.
The little Elf girl had never seen death before that day. Always it had been something remote, something she thought she would never face. She knew that death often claimed the lives of men, hobbits, animals, all creatures-- but not Elves. Elves were supposed to be immortal. How was it that so many Elves had just died before her very eyes? Well, if they could die, then she could, as well. Gil had never wanted anything more than death at that moment. What claimed her was not death, however. What eventually claimed her was a deep, healing sleep.
Ozga thumped her way to the branch of the creek closest to the caves, her head lowered against the hated sun. She needed water to prepare the special meal and drink they would share after the men's return. As she dipped her bucket into the murky water, something caught her eye. The sun was gleaming off of something-- hair? Golden hair? Curiosity drew her away from her task and to the spot.
The Orc woman's gaze drifted from the hair blowing in the wind to the face below it. Ozga's eyes narrowed as they took in the gentle slope of the elvin-child's ears. Anger boiled within her. It was one of them-- One of the ones who had driven away her kind. Her hate brimmed just below the surface. She reached out and grabbed a large stone. One well aimed blow, and this Elf would die.
A rough voice, backed by many beatings, echoed through her head and stayed her hand. "Always think first!" Baroc's fist had intoned every syllable. "Sauron's hate made us slaves. Ours will make us masters!"
Ozga's mind flashed to another picture of a child lying discarded in the bushes. Baroc's son. Maybe, if Ozga saved this child to work in the place of the dead one, Baroc would not beat her so bad.
A cruel smile twisted Ozga's lips. Let Baroc beat this child all he wanted. He would enjoy being the master, with an Elf as his slave.
The little Elf girl had never seen death before that day. Always it had been something remote, something she thought she would never face. She knew that death often claimed the lives of men, hobbits, animals, all creatures-- but not Elves. Elves were supposed to be immortal. How was it that so many Elves had just died before her very eyes? Well, if they could die, then she could, as well. Gil had never wanted anything more than death at that moment. What claimed her was not death, however. What eventually claimed her was a deep, healing sleep.
Ozga thumped her way to the branch of the creek closest to the caves, her head lowered against the hated sun. She needed water to prepare the special meal and drink they would share after the men's return. As she dipped her bucket into the murky water, something caught her eye. The sun was gleaming off of something-- hair? Golden hair? Curiosity drew her away from her task and to the spot.
The Orc woman's gaze drifted from the hair blowing in the wind to the face below it. Ozga's eyes narrowed as they took in the gentle slope of the elvin-child's ears. Anger boiled within her. It was one of them-- One of the ones who had driven away her kind. Her hate brimmed just below the surface. She reached out and grabbed a large stone. One well aimed blow, and this Elf would die.
A rough voice, backed by many beatings, echoed through her head and stayed her hand. "Always think first!" Baroc's fist had intoned every syllable. "Sauron's hate made us slaves. Ours will make us masters!"
Ozga's mind flashed to another picture of a child lying discarded in the bushes. Baroc's son. Maybe, if Ozga saved this child to work in the place of the dead one, Baroc would not beat her so bad.
A cruel smile twisted Ozga's lips. Let Baroc beat this child all he wanted. He would enjoy being the master, with an Elf as his slave.